Fifty Shades of Grey star and new ISIS recruit Dakota Johnson hosted SNL on Saturday, and the best sketch of the night saw her and the cast’s women eschew social niceties to engage in some hilarious, much-needed truth-telling.

The reason for this bold rejection of propriety? Sara Bareilles’ “Brave,” the ubiquitous anthem that entreats listeners to say what they want to say.

It’s been three years since Carly Rae Jepsen colonized the pop charts—and the Internet, and America, and the hearts of everyone alive—with “Call Me Maybe,” her soaring ode to meet-cute romance. But for those who thought Jepsen had abandoned her mission to craft the poppiest of pop songs, fear not: Her new single, “I Really Like You,” is 3½ minutes of unflinching bubblegum glee.

By my count, Jepsen says “really” 67 times in this song, and every iteration is insanely catchy. If you are into nuanced lyricism, this is not for you; if you are into ’80s pop and sky-high choruses, this is your new favorite song.

Whatever your opinion of Fifty Shades of Grey, it’s fair to say that Dakota Johnson’s playful naiveté and quiet, bristling intelligence often transcended the campy badness that defined most of the movie. The actress put that faux-innocent persona to good use while hosting SNL this week, especially in a short, controversial sketch that saw her play the departing daughter of Taran Killam.

The bit starts as a saccharine spoof of a Toyota Camry commercial, but it becomes clear that Johnson isn’t leaving for college when a truck pulls up mounted with machine guns and a militant Kyle Mooney. But don’t worry! As Johnson notes, “it’s just ISIS.”

Given the brash pyrotechnics of his “All Day” debut, it’s clear Kanye West’s new album won’t entirely consist of sensitive, confessional ballads like “Only One.” But if, like me, you find the rapper’s vulnerable-songwriter mode particularly intriguing, West’s recent performance on Norwegian-Swedish talk show Skavlan is a must-watch.

When the newly revamped New York Times Magazine asked the famously prolix (but personally reticent) Karl Ove Knausgaard, the author of a 3,500-page confessional six-book series called My Struggle, to undertake a road trip through Canada and the U.S., it enlisted him in a noble tradition: the foreign writer grappling with America via that most American of journeys, the road trip. How does his long and divisive report, part one of which will appear in this Sunday’s print issue, compare to those of his predecessors? Below, we compare and contrast.

Last month, veteran Washington actor Edward Gero sat in on the Supreme Court’s oral arguments, a notepad on his lap. He watched the nine Justices enter the courtroom from behind velvet drapes shortly after 10 a.m. But Gero had his eyes trained on one person in particular: Antonin Scalia. He examined the justice’s expansive gestures and tics and took diligent notes: “Fidgety, heavy brows, blowing through his lips, finger in his mouth, awaits—then pounces from the chair, swings around—launches his questions, his upper body very active, right hand always moving.” Watching Scalia’s every move, Gero was slowly learning how to be him.

Leonard Nimoy, who died today at 83, had a long, prodigious career as an actor, writer, and director. Despite all his other achievements, he will always be known as Mr. Spock, the half-human, half-Vulcan first officer of Star Trek’s Enterprise, and that’s what I want to focus on here, because the pointy-eared Starfleet officer was one of the great characters in TV history. He was killed off and then resuscitated, not just officially (in the second and third Star Trek films, then in J.J. Abrams reboots, where he appears as young Spock’s grizzled future self) but symbolically, in the form of new Trek characters who at times seemed like prismatic shards of Spock, and who all grappled with feelings of otherness (Geordi La Forge, Worf, Data, Seven of Nine).

From fairly early in the show’s run, Nimoy seemed to realize the symbolic power invested in Spock, and perhaps to mistrust or fear it. “The network, and a good many fans, would have been happy if the show had been called ‘The Mr. Spock Hour,’” confessed Star Trek writer David Gerrold in his bookThe Trouble With Tribbles. As a professional who prided himself on his versatility, he resisted being identified too strongly with a single role—it’s the main reason he went on to play Paris, the “master of disguise,” on Mission: Impossiblefrom 1969–71—and it was a long time before he entirely made peace with the legacy he’d done so much to shape.

Beau Willimon agreed to speak with Vulture about the third season of House of Cards with just one tiny catch: He was not going to disclose anything about the third season of House of Cards. Willimon artfully avoided giving a direct answer to almost every question he was asked as he spoke by phone while driving through Kentucky, apparently home to our nation’s spottiest cell service. (An accident, or a convenient ploy to drop the call whenever a question forced a too-revealing answer? We may never know.) Frank Underwood would be proud. Still, Willimon had plenty to say about everything but the plot of the new season. Topics discussed include: the nature of power, the Netflix leak, the singularity, what conversations Willimon has with Kevin Spacey and Robin Wright during rehearsal, and whether or not there is such a thing as objective morality.

This post contains spoilers for the first episode of House of Cards Season 3.

When Stephen Colbert rode off into the night last December with Santa Claus, Abraham Lincoln, and Alex Trebek, he got some of his most famous friends to promise that they would “meet again some sunny day.” Indeed, about 21 minutes into your House of Cards Season 3 binge, instead of a deadly surprise, like last season, viewers will find a surprise bit of nostalgia: when Stephen Colbert, in character, interviews now-President Francis Underwood (Kevin Spacey), who has been in office for six months.

In the too-brief segment, Colbert dings Underwood over the name of his new agenda: America Works, which he shortens to AmWorks, noting the similarity in sound to the alleged pyramid scheme Amway. Colbert does not relent, mocking Underwood for his plans to eliminate unemployment: “Eradicate unemployment the same way you’ve eradicated your approval polls?”

Unfortunately, at this point, Doug Stamper (Michael Kelly), turns off the TV and things go back to looking bleak.